Gladys Hardy on Ellen

Again, nothing to do with the blog; just entertainment.

Wine Tasting

Mexico has not, until recently, had a wine culture. Decent wine was difficult to fine, was imported and expensive.

Wino that I am, this proved to be a challenge when I first arrived. Then I discovered the Argentinean and Chilean imports that were very drinkable and reasonably priced. I was saved.

But things are changing. Apparently Mexico has been producing wines out of Baja California for some time now and people are beginning to step up and take notice. This could not have been more evidenced than by the Celebration of Mexican Wines event held last weekend at Hacienda Las Trancas.

When my niece sent me information about the event, I immediately wanted to attend. I sent an email out to the gang to see if it peaked anyone else’s interest and all were non-responsive except Christine. She was in. So a week before the event I asked her to pick up tickets for us, since the sales office was close to her office. She called after to say that she’d gotten the last available tickets.

As the event approached, my other friends began to respond with interest. “Too late,” I had to tell them. Some tried anyway and were unsuccessful.

In addition to the wine tasting, the venue appealed to me as well. Hacienda Las Trancas is 40,000 square feet with 50 rooms under one roof (many still in need of renovation), set on 10 acres. It is about an hour from San Miguel de Allende. (I highly recommend that you visit their website and read the story of the gringo couple who are bringing this place back to life. If nothing else, check out the photos.) I had visited once before and was extremely impressed with the place and what the owners are accomplishing.

The tickets included bus transportation but we decided to drive in case we wanted to depart before the busses were scheduled to leave. Rodrigo, Christine and her Match.com date Mario, and I arrived a few minutes before the event was to begin. Tuxedoed waiters were still frantically setting up. Kellie, the owner, met us at the entrance. “This is Mexico,” she said, “Why are you here on time?”

We were handed our glasses at the entrance and ventured into the enormous courtyard where tables were set up representing each of the wineries. As we tasted, we were able to wander through many of the impressive guestrooms, the gardens, stables, swimming pool area and a gym that makes anything in San Miguel look shabby. Then the busses began to arrive. Hundreds of gringos and well-to-do Mexicans poured into the Hacienda.

Each of the tables had bowls of tiny pieces of bread to clean your palate between tastes. At the entrance table a dog was eyeing the bowl and wagging his tail expectantly. A few minutes later I saw Kelley, in her beautiful black cocktail dress, scoop up the dog and carry him out of the Hacienda.

As the crowd thickened, waiters began to serve a variety of exotic and tasty appetizers. Always looking out for our vegetarian friend Christine, I asked what was in the little round balls that one of the waiters was serving. In Spanish, he told me that it was cheese and tuna. Biting into it I found that it was indeed cheese but also some kind of shredded beef. “Don’t eat those,” I told Christine. Later we found wonderful ceviche stuffed cucumbers that Christine was able to consume.

The event began at 6:00 PM, which, when you think about it, is early-bird special time for the retired crowd. These types began to close in on the dinning room and waiters could barely clear the doorway before little age-spotted hands cleared their serving trays.

All in all, I was very impressed with the event, and especially with the wines. We left around 7:30 but heard that the first bus was not scheduled to leave until 9:30. Had we taken a bus, we would have been very drunk and hungry by 9:30

Vineyards are beginning to pop up around San Miguel. I couldn’t be happier and do my best every night to support the industry.

Household Staff

One of the big adjustments of living in Mexico, is having staff.

I was not raised with staff. My mother made her own clothes and we switched from ice cream bars to ice cream in a carton because it was cheaper. We went from a Chevy Impala to a Chevy Vega because gas prices rose to nearly $0.50 per gallon (now my age is showing). My toys were old sets of keys and broken telephones. Was I happy? Yes, I was. We were country folk and I didn’t know any better and didn’t envy anyone.

Now I’m country folk again. However, I have a full-time maid and a part-time gardener.

I had difficulty, at first, having someone around the house all the time. I didn’t really want a full-time maid, part-time seemed good enough to me; even a luxury. However, with six dogs and two cats, it began to seem necessary. Plus, Maria was my father’s primary care-giver and she was turning down other full-time job offers because she wanted to work for us. (Whether this is true or a slight manipulation I’ll never know.)

We’re blessed. Maria is a person who always has a smile on her face. Her demeanor is constantly positive. She believes that life is too short to be unhappy. She is the same age as me and has a 30 year-old son, her father has dementia. She has over 150 relatives who live in and around San Miguel de Allende. If I need something fixed, or hauled away or repaired, she can usually call a family member and it is done. She and her 11 year-old son, housesit for us when we travel.

Maria arrives at 8:00 AM and peels me a fresh grapefruit which she leaves in the kitchen. Then she lets the dogs out of their crates and cleans the pee and poo from their patio. When she’s done, if we’re not awake, she washes our cars so as not to disturb us inside the house. If we want something special for breakfast, other than cereal, it is prepared in a heartbeat.

Maria is a stealth maid. She somehow manages to know what room you’re going to be in when and is always in another. She does our laundry, irons like no tomorrow and I’ve taught her to polish the silver. She helps me chase snakes and wasps off the front porch. She reminds me every year when it is the day that my father died. She tells me when a bird is trapped inside the front gate light and we need to set it free.

I’ve learned that one cannot assume. My friend Toby and his girlfriend Yvonne, brought us a beautiful cashmere blanket from Vienna when they came to visit. While we were away, Maria thought she’d wash it for us. It shrank to about the size of a napkin so she and the gardener thought they’d try to stretch it out. It now has a very interesting shape and not nearly the old texture. Subsequently we’ve taught her to read labels and have a separate space for our dry clean only items.

Rod and I have a ritual when we travel. We buy cooking magazines in Spanish and read the recipes. When we find something that sounds good we give it to Maria to cook for our main meal (comida) of the day. She is becoming an excellent cook and has branched out from Mexican food and now prepares a lovely Thai peanut pork thingy. When we have parties, she pulls in a couple of sisters and has cooked for up to 80 people for a fraction of the price of hiring caterers. (Guests have commented that it was the best traditional Mexican food that they’ve ever eaten.)

So when our gardener resigned (no great loss), Maria and I discussed the possibility of hiring a young, handsome man, who is fond of working with his shirt off. I gave the hiring assignment to Rodrigo who subsequently hired his assistant’s father who is as old as the hills and has no front teeth. Lesson learned. (However he is supposed to be some kind of “plant whisperer” and so far, is doing a great job.)

For reference, Maria earns less than $120 USD per week. The gardener, about $50 USD per week. I’m losing my cooking skills and when the house is a mess, I think, “It’s ok. Maria will be here tomorrow.” For an obsessive – compulsive like me, change is not always a bad thing.

Tiny Weenie

I’ve been getting my haircut at the same shop for about four years. It is a little more expensive than other shops, at $100 pesos (a little less than $10 USD), but Juan keeps a clean shop and is an interesting guy. He’s a skinny thing, with long braids down to his waist. He was a philosophy major but could make any money philosophizing so he does hair. His wife just had their second child.

Every haircut is a combination English/Spanish lesson as we are about on par with our language skills. This week I had just settled into the chair when he asked me, “Que significa “Tiny Weenie?””

I was a bit stunned as I hesitated, thinking, “Poor guy. I hope no one said that to him.” When I explained it was a small penis (“Pene chiquito”) he started laughing. Then we got into discussion and maybe what he heard was “Teeny weenie” which could mean anything small. (I couldn’t come up with the vocabulary to ask him where he had heard this expression.) “Que significa “weenie?”” he asked.

“Como hot dog” I replied.

“Salchicha?” (The Spanish, or at least Mexican, word for the kind of meat we call hot dogs.)

“Exacto”

(I should mention that “pene”, which means “penis” in Spanish, is pronounced exactly the same way as one would pronounce “penne pasta.” So if you are in Mexico, at an Italian restaurant, and you order the “pasta penne” and your waiter smiles slightly, understand that to him it sounds like you just ordered “penis pasta.”)

Whether the “Tiny weenie” conversation proved to be a segue for the next conversation I’ll never know, but he went on to say that he’d heard that gay marriage is now legal in Mexico City and he thought it was very good and a progressive thing for the country. With that I’ll close with a piece about gay marriage that my friend Andrew found somewhere on the internet:

1) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

2) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

3) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

4) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

5) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britney Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage and our 50% divorce rate would be destroyed.

6) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

7) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

8) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

9) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

11) Gay Marriage will destabilize the family. This same argument was used against numerous changes including women leaving the home for the workplace, interracial marriages, and dancing.

White Guy

One of the cultural differences that I have come to experience here is the reference to or about someone by their physical appearance. For example, frequently someone will call out to me, “Oye! Guerro!” or “Hey there! Blond guy! (Or “White Guy!”) Never in the states would I think about referencing someone’s skin color. But here it is not reserved for gringos but can be used with light skinned Mexicans as well.

There is a designer in town named “Negro” or “Black”. I can’t even bring myself to call him by his name. I just say “Hola” and omit his name altogether.

Another is “Gordo” or “Gorda”. That seems like “Fatty” or “Fatso”. Never would I refer to someone by their weight. However, here it is a term of endearment. Husbands and wives will use it like we’d use “Honey” or “Sweetheart” or when talking to their children.

“Pelon” or “Bald guy” is another. If one didn’t understand the cultural difference, one could easily be offended.

“Joven” or “Young man” is what one calls a waiter in a restaurant, regardless of his age. I was flattered when a woman behind the deli counter called me “Joven.” That was until I saw a 60-something year old man climb into a taxi and call the 60-something year old cab driver “Joven.”

And if you’re an attractive woman, you’re going to get cat calls and whistles. You can be offended if you want, but I believe my 27-year-old friend Christine has the right attitude for living in Mexico. “I’m offended if they don’t harass me.” I’ve also seen packs of high school girls give it back to an attractive man. What’s fair is fair. One of my favorite cat calls is “Tu con todas las curvas y yo sin frenos” or “You with all those curves and me with no brakes.”

And have I mentioned the abundance of “No Tell Motels”? Since Mexicans tend to live with their families until marriage, couples don’t have much opportunity for sexual encounters. (And there is always the infidelity thing which seems pretty prevalent here.) This has lead to a string of affordable motels where one can pull one’s car into a private garage where it can’t be seen. While I’ve never used one, the old tenants of my house swore by them for their cross-country trips. They said that they were cheap, clean and a great place to stay if you don’t mind a mirror above the bed and a glass shower in the center of your room. You also don’t have to worry about your car getting broken into.

In the nearby city of Leon, there is a section of the highway that is referred to as the “Bermuda Triangle”. This is because at night traffic can be very heavy at the beginning of the highway but by the end there are very few cars on the road. They disappear at the various off-ramps leading to the motels.

On Writing

Trying to motivate myself back into a routine of writing, I attended an International PEN lecture where two published authors were speaking; Janice Macdonald and Sarah Lovett. Neither are authors whom I have read but the lecture was about creating commercial fiction so I was interested.

Back in the states I attended a class on writing essays. One of the elder students kept raising her hand and asking the instructor if it was better to write by hand or on a computer or typewriter. Everything else seemed irrelevant to her, as if the writing tool is what makes a writer. Given this experience I was prepared to be annoyed.

The event was well attended and the questions from the audience on point. I was, however, slightly annoyed. There was plenty of empty seats in the theater but for some reason a large man decided to take the seat next to me. He apparently had some kind of breathing problem and made the strangest sound during the entire lecture. I felt like I was sitting next to Darth Vader. I didn’t want to be rude and turn to see what the problem was or even to get up and move to another seat. So I endured.

Sarah’s opening joke was, “What did Adam say to Eve? “Stand back, we don’t know how big this thing is going to get!”” She then went on to describe what has proven to be a very successful writing career.

I also took the step to send my children’s story manuscript to a couple of publishing houses. I figure even being rejected can be a learning experience. What have I got to lose beyond a little ego?

Valle de Bravo and The Lost Weekend

I call it the “Lost Weekend” not because it was a wasted two days, but because of the number of times that we were actually lost.

Rodrigo was asked to be the “ring’s godfather” at his assistant’s brother’s wedding in Toluca. Toluca is a big industrial city not far from Mexico City. It has little to offer tourists. It is particularly ugly. So we decided that we would travel beyond Toluca and spend the night in Valle de Bravo. Valle de Bravo is a weekend getaway for wealthy Mexico City people and sits on the edge of a large freshwater lake; one of the few freshwater lakes in Mexico that is not polluted by the town’s waste.

From San Miguel, one has to pass through Toluca to get to Valle de Bravo. Toluca is three hours from San Miguel and Valle de Bravo is another hour and a half, for a total travel time of four and a half hours. If one knows where one is going.

After getting lost and losing about two hours in Toluca, I was ready to find a hotel and bail on the whole Valle de Bravo idea. It was dark, raining and I was tired and hungry. “You’ve already paid for the hotel in Valle,” Rod said, “We can do this.”

So we took a white-knuckled night drive through the mountains and arrived in Valle de Bravo at about 10:00 PM. Seven hours from the start of our journey. The town was nearly empty and most every place was closed. Clearly it was not peak season. We did find a nice Italian Restaurant that was still serving and had a decent meal. On the way back to the car we stopped at a very sheik little bar for Martini’s. We were the only customers and spent our time chatting with the bartender, who told us how to get to our hotel on the other side of town.

Rod was driving and as I looked out the window, I thought that I recognized certain landmarks. We were driving in circles and were back at the entrance of town; the opposite side of town from our hotel. It was 1:00 in the morning.

“Find a taxi to lead us there,” I said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

So Rod spoke with a driver and asked how much. “This is going to cost us a fortune,” he said, “They’re going to discuss what they should charge.”

One of the drivers came back. “200 pesos,” he said.

Rod looked at me and I said “Fine, Si” and driver looked surprised. As if he expected me to bargain but I didn’t.

We followed him rapidly through the sleeping town and out the other side. After a few minutes on the highway, he pulled off onto a one lane dirt road and we plunged into the darkness. After five minutes of no sign of civilization I said, “I feel like we’re being taken into the woods to be robbed.”

“You can make the reservations next time,” was Rod’s response.

We finally came to a clearing and drove past a miniature golf course and up to a wood cabin that served as reception. I paid the taxi driver and Rod rang the bell. We waited another five minutes and off in the distance a man came trotting down the road. We apologized for the hour but he seemed unconcerned and politely greeted us and gave the low down on the accommodations and services.

We parked next to our cabin and I was impressed with the effective use of space and the cleanliness of our little two room cottage.

The next morning we awoke to clear skies. Outside were tall pine trees and horses grazing in green pastures. After living in high desert for so long, it felt wonderful to be in the woods.

I was anxious to get into town to see it in the daylight. Plus I wanted to leave Valle and allow enough time to get lost again in Toluca and still make the wedding on time.

Valle de Bravo has an architectural feel to it that leads me to believe it was quite a hotspot back in the 50’s and 60’s. It is still very picturesque albeit a little faded around the edges. We had breakfast at a lovely floating restaurant and fed the water fowl from our table. A woman water skied off in the distance. From our table I could see many ski boats in dry dock. We will go back for a long weekend in the future.

We took the correct route out of town and drove through fertile valleys and old pine forests. At a bend in the road I noticed what I thought were leaves falling all across the highway. Then I noticed a portable sign in the middle of the road that said to slow to 15 kilometers. That is when I realized that they were not leaves but thousands of monarch butterflies. We were driving through their winter sanctuary before they return to Canada.

I was impressed to see the other drivers obeying the speed limit. These people that usually drive like they are in a video game were showing respect for these delicate and beautiful insects.

We found a turn-off where we paid a young boy 50 pesos each for him to lead us on a five minute walk to a stream where the butterflies drink. Along the way he explained the mating and migration rituals of the Monarch. The stream where they drink was a vibrating mass of color. For me, it was a wonder of nature that made me happy to just quietly observe.

Back in Toluca we got lost immediately after entering the city limits. After one big circle I opted for our taxi strategy once again. This time it only cost us 70 pesos. We parked the car at the hotel and used taxis from thereon. As if to continue the theme of the weekend, our taxi driver got lost between the church and the reception hall.